


Practice makes perfect

by karvolf



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, nothing but fluff here my dudes, some pre-movie nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:11:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karvolf/pseuds/karvolf
Summary: Something had to be done about Baze's hair. Chirrut comes up with a plan.





	Practice makes perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barbarismbeginsathome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbarismbeginsathome/gifts).



Chirrut struck with all his might and felt the strength of the attack resonate through his staff when the weapon hit Baze right in the stomach. Letting out an exclamation of surprise, he froze while Baze bent over, gasping for air and clutching his fingers on his own staff as he refused to drop it. Feeling a pang of guilt as he lowered his weapon, Chirrut moved closer, his hands finding Baze’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. A slight frown appeared on his face, as this was not a situation that should have happened: they knew each other too well to ever injure themselves during training. Each of Chirrut’s strikes was always blocked, and for each of Baze’s offenses Chirrut always found a way to avoid the hit or parry before counterattacking. After years of training with Baze, Chirrut often found their fights to be almost more of a way to relax than a challenge, and he knew Baze felt the same way too. They were of equal strength, with skills and weaknesses that completed each other. And yet here was Baze Malbus, trying his best not to fall on his knees after taking a hit he should have been able to avoid.

“Is everything fine?,” Chirrut asked, smiling to hide the worry he felt at hearing the pain in Baze’s labored breath. “Did something distract you?”

He moved closer and, with a gentle pressure on Baze’s shoulders, forced him to sit on the ground before settling down next to him.

“You surprised me,” Baze huffed, still trying to catch his breath. “I could not see you.”

“This sounds like the kind of excuse I should be using, not you,” Chirrut replied with a smile. “What happened?”

“Hair got in the way.”

Chirrut could not help it: he laughed and scuttled closer to Baze, reaching up to touch his face. His fingers gently traced the line of the jaw, moving up to the eyes, and Chirrut smiled when he felt the long strands of wavy hair (dark hair, that was how people always described it to him, and those were the only moments where Chirrut wished he could see because he could not imagine what it looked like) tickle the back of his hands.

“I thought you tied it?” he asked, still running his fingers through the thick mane of curly, messy hair. He never got tired of that.

“I did,” Baze replied, his usual grumpiness audible again now that he had recovered from the hit. “Just not well enough.”

He bowed his head a little closer as Chirrut kept touching his hair. His breathing slowed, and then quickened a little when Chirrut pulled him a little closer and kissed his forehead.

*****

Braiding was one of those things Chirrut was aware of in a purely theorical sort of way. He knew what it was, of course, and what it was used for, but as his daily life never required him to braid rope and because he had, a very long time ago, decided that keeping his hair short was much less of a hassle than having to maintain any sort of style, learning how to braid had never seemed like it would be useful to him in any way.  
Of course, life sometimes had its own strange way of proving you wrong when you least expected it.

Something had to be done about Baze’s hair, and since Baze kept ignoring the problem (Chirrut had beat him five times since that first victory that had surprised him so much a few months ago), then Chirrut had decided to solve it himself. Of course cutting Baze’s hair was not an option: letting it grow longer had been Baze’s choice, and if he had to be honest, Chirrut enjoyed running his hands through it far too much to ever consider asking Baze to cut it.

So, after thinking about it for awhile, Chirrut had come up with the perfect solution: braids. Braids would hold Baze’s hair in place far better than that sort of lose ponytail he wore whenever they trained. And there was no need to braid all of it, simply enough to make sure no hair would fall in front of Baze’s eyes at inopportune moments.

Chirrut had then asked around, whenever he had to go to the village without Baze being present, because while he could probably figure out how to do some simple braiding all by himself, he figured maybe getting some advice on how to make it look nice would help too. One of the caretakers at the orphanage showed herself particularly helpful; giving some advice and then using small pieces of thin rope to show Chirrut what she meant. When the time came to go back to the temple, Chirrut took the braided ropes with him, safely hiding them in a small satchel he always kept under his robes.

And then, when he was home and after he made sure no one would come and disturb him, Chirrut practiced. He found the thinnest ropes he could get his hands on and, using the model given to him by the caretaker, he taught himself how to braid them. This did not took time, but doing it fast while making sure the result looked nice and even took longer than he had expected. Chirrut found relaxation and peace in this endeavor, enjoying the time spent practicing a new task learned for the man who was so dear to his heart. He imagined the surprise he would hear in Baze’s voice when he would finally show him, and the time he would spend close to him, showing him what he had learned.

Until then, he had to make sure everything would be perfect.

****

It took some work to get Baze to sit down. Chirrut found that Baze did not enjoy having to stand in one place and do nothing in the middle of the day without being explained why, and telling him would have ruined the surprise. So it was after some careful arguing that Baze finally sat on the ground, grumbling. When Chirrut started brushing his hair though, he relaxed almost immediately.

“You made me stop training for this?” Baze still muttered, trying to turn his head to see the look on Chirrut’s face.

Chirrut did not reply: he only nodded and set the brush aside before getting to work.

After a few moments, it became evident that this was not going to be as easy as planned. Chirrut had expected it, but braiding hair was much different than practicing with ropes. Everything was softer and harder to grasp; the hair would separate and fall between his fingers, and so when he finally stopped and touched the result of his work, he found it not nearly as even and smooth as the braids he had made while practicing. Doing his best to fix everything, which was not much since he did not want to start over, he eventually stopped and just touched Baze’s head, having a hard time imagining if this was supposed to look good or not, but unable to chase from his mind the suspicion that the result was not as satisfying as he had hoped.

“How long did you practice for this?” Baze asked, and Chirrut felt his heart swell at the love and surprise he heard in his voice.

“Probably not as long as what you are imagining,” Chirrut answered. “I mostly had a hard time making sure no one would notice what I was doing, I did not want to ruin the surprise. I practiced with ropes.” He hesitated for a second, then held out a small mirror so Baze would take it. “How does it look?”

Baze took the mirror and looked, and Chirrut heard him as he turned his head, examining his hair. Then he started laughing, his voice booming and loud as he turned to face Chirrut who did not doubt for a second that this laughter was not meant at his expense. It was the way Baze laughed when he was happy and when they were just the two of them; there was nothing but love and affection to be heard here.

“You might need to practice a little more,” Baze said, moving a little closer. Chirrut could hear the smile on his lips as he spoke. “But this is great idea. Thank you.”

He leaned forward slightly and their foreheads touched. Chirrut grinned and kissed him, his heart fluttering in his chest. As he pulled Baze closer, he wondered how fast he would get better at braiding Baze’s hair when his simple presence would be a constant distraction. Maybe this would take some time.


End file.
